Homecoming
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: AU PWP - Dean just got kicked out of military school, just as his Dad got remarried to Anna - bringing her techie nerd son right into his house - and right under Dean's nose. Smut, total, smut.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a continuation of the military school pwp I wrote for advent – so, this first bit is from the advent fic – but the rest is new enjoy. I might write more...I have a few ideas...but for the moment, assume this is complete. _

_Also, don't forget to check out my erotic drama novel – Ink – links in my profile _

It's their first Christmas as one big happy family.

And Dean has just gotten kicked out of military school.

Castiel's gotten used to his step-brother not being around. He hasn't seen Dean since John married his Anna, Castiel's mother, because Dean was at military school even then – he was only back for the wedding itself. Castiel's a little scared of him, even though his Mom tells him that Dean's a good boy, Castiel can't quite believe it.

For one thing, good boys didn't get sent to military school.

And for another – Dean was angry all the time, and pretty violent to boot. At the wedding he'd called Anna, Castiel's mother, a bitch, and Castiel had gotten into a fight with him. Dean had damn near torn his arm off, wrenching it behind his back and slamming him against the wall of the bathroom they were in. He'd gotten really close to Castiel's neck and growled, "Really? That's it...that's all you've got?..." and Castiel had felt teeth against his pulse for a second, before Dean's uncle Bobby came in and broke it up.

Dean was crazy, and Castiel wanted to make it to seventeen without getting murdered.

But then, Dean probably wanted to make the most of these last two years of not being charged as an adult.

So the chances were evenly split that Castiel wouldn't live past Christmas.

He didn't really have anyone else to hang out with to avoid the house. Castiel loved his computers, more than people, the humming modems, swishing fans and steady thrum of the flickering screens. He was working his way through all the programming languages, kept a blog about his projects, and spent long hours constructing endless reams of code on the six monitors in his bedroom.

Dean loved loud music, louder TV, smoking, drinking and shooting fireworks off of the roof of the pool house.

So, Castiel was already aware that they were not a match as step-siblings, when he came home from his last day of school and found Dean lying on the bed, in Castiel's room, looking up at the six monitors and massaging his groin through the white briefs he had on.

Which were all he had on.

Castiel stood, frozen in the doorway, looking at Dean, sprawled over the double mattress and it's dark blue sheets. There was a lot to Dean, in terms of his size, the bulky muscle and long limbs that made him up. But Castiel had never seen him practically naked before. This was perhaps more revealing than total nudity, in some perverse way. He could see the shape of Dean's erect cock, where it curved up towards his belly, held down by the tight, translucent fabric. The shadow of its head was unmistakeable, made more so by the damp spot of fabric there.

Castiel realises that he's staring.

Dean lifts the hand from his groin, waves in sarcastic greeting. His other arm is behind his head, his body stretched lazily.

"Hey Cas, how's it going?"

"...what are you doing in here? Get out." Castiel says, when he can form words again. His fingers grip his shirt cuffs where they protrude from his sweater, a nervous habit.

"No." Dean says pointedly, like Cas is being unbearably slow in realising his own weakness.

Castiel takes a step forwards, and glances at the monitors.

His heart freezes.

"Great collection by the way." Dean says, hand returning to his cock lazily. "Really, really good..." his eyes fall closed for a second.

Castiel looks at six screens worth of porn. He has a fairly large collection, its pointless denying it, but he'd thought he'd hidden his downloads pretty well. He'd been wrong, apparently.

"That's private."

"Duh." Dean smirks at him. "Twinks and light bondage...not to mention your little machine kink...guess you don't want Mommy dearest to know about that." Dean points. "Because that right there? Is fucked up...Cassy I'm surprised at you."

Castiel feels himself flush, looking quickly away from the central screen, on which a lithe eighteen year old is being pounded by a motorised dildo. Shame tingles in his gut, mostly because of Dean's words, and not because of the images on screen, which are fairly damning in and of themselves.

"Seriously, why did you think Dad sent me to military school?" Dean flicks his eye to the screen, then back to Castiel. "Probably smart keeping it to yourself...shit, I didn't even guess." Dean laughs to himself quietly, then shifts a little and pats the bed lightly with the hand he's been busily caressing himself with. "Come lie down."

Castiel stays stock still in the doorway.

Dean sighs. "Christ, first time I catch you with some evidence that you're actually human, don't spaz out - come here."

Castiel inches forwards, driven only by fear of Dean and the brain-disconnecting weirdness of the situation they're in. He climbs up onto the bed, socked feet resting on the comforter, and lies down next to Dean.

"Better." Dean mutters, looking up at the screen, where the boy is flushed, pouring sweat and crying out as he beats off, ass getting hammered by the propelled rubber cock. Castiel looks at the screen as well, unable to keep his eyes away from it. The sounds over the speakers are turned up so loud, and the monitor is large, dominating most of the wall.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Dean fingers his cock through his school slacks.

Dean rolls onto his side, one arm sliding under Castiel's neck as he leans over his step-brother. Castiel shivers when he feels Dean's breath on his throat.

"Relax."

Dean's mouth touches his skin, and it might as well be a live wire. Castiel's hips rise from the mattress, and he whimpers at the feel of soft, damp lips on his artery, the nip of teeth as Dean breathes out against his skin.

"Keep watching." Dean murmurs, and his fingers tug down the zipper on Cas's pants, navigating my touch as they slide into his underwear and pull out his cock, exploring it blindly.

Castiel fights to keep his eyes on the screen, one hand finding its way helplessly into Dean's hair, pulling as Dean continues to suck at his neck, moaning, soft, porn worthy little sounds. His fingers, strong and capable, trace Castiel's bare cock from root to tip, stroking the crisp hair which he knows must be dark as that which is tickling his cheek, and following the line of it to the shallow indent just before the head, which he slides his finger around, just to hear Castiel fall apart. He's rewarded with a deep groan; Castiel's fingers tighten in his hair and Dean growls against his pulse point.

He curls his fingers under Castiel's cock, feeling the slight groove under the plump head, rubbing it and following it up, catching the flared edge of the tip and following it around, once, twice, until Castiel shudders and sobs out a low sound.

Only then does he slip one finger up, touching it to the slit at the very crown of Cas's dick, finding a tiny amount of wetness there. He strokes it, the skin smooth and fine, feeling it jump in his hand. Another drop wells against his finger, and Castiel breathes quickly, fighting for control as Dean withdraws his hand, bringing it up to taste the fluid on his fingers.

Dean allows himself his first look down to where his step-brother's pants are open, his cock now hard and pointing upwards, reddened as if scorched by his gaze. The tip produces more pre-come, and Dean watches the bead of pearly liquid as it rolls thickly down over the head, dipping into the crease below, and then on down the shaft.

He licks his fingers, relishing the first salty tang of Castiel on his tongue. Dean licks down his fingers, wetting his palm before returning it to Castiel's aching flesh, burying he face against the smaller teen's neck again, smelling his clean skin.

Castiel is lost, frantically trying to breathe and control himself, even as he thrusts wantonly into Dean's curled fingers. Dean's fist jerks down each time he thrusts up, and the tight wriggle of his fingers, the scrape of teeth along his jugular, has Castiel on the edge in seconds. His toes curl, feet scuffling desperately on the bed, his fingers drag on Dean's short, dirty blond hair, his back arches and he can feel his release getting away from him – spilling into every part of his body and throbbing with hot urgency.

"There you are." Dean mutters, and Castiel comes in two, hard jerks, biting into his lip and not able to remember when his eyes snapped shut.

He shakes, and he can feel Dean's hand on him, still squeezing his cock, so firmly that he can feel himself twitching in Dean's palm, feel his blood zinging close to the surface, right up against Dean's come covered hand.

Castiel's panting too hard to speak, too strung out to move as Dean slides away from him, getting to his knees and kneeling over Castiel's lax body.

He pulls himself out of his underwear, where the damp spot has spread, with one hand. With the other he pushes Cas's shirt and sweater up, his pants down, until he's naked from knees to chest.

Dean fixes his dark green eyes on Castiel's skin, one hand wrapped around his cock, his hips twitching impatiently as he strokes. It's hot, too hot for him to last, looking down at Castiel, good little Castiel, utterly ruined, covered in come, skin all flushed, a hickey blooming on his neck and his badly hidden porn still playing, filling the air with sounds.

Dean looks up, and see's Castiel watching him through heavy lidded eyes. He strokes faster, breath hitching with the effort. And then Castiel reaches up, his hands touching Dean's hips, cradling them in his sweat dampened palms. Dean jerks forwards into the pressure, head snapping back as he feels pleasure go through him, from his toes all the way up to his scalp - tingling and hot.

"Come on me."

Dean thinks he's imagined it, the breathy, barely there gasp of Castiel's voice.

But then he looks down, sees Castiel's eyes on him, feels the squeeze on his hips.

And that's it, Dean lets go, painting a white streak over Castiel's skin, watching the muscles of his stomach clench as he arches, shifting as Dean coaxes the rest of his release out onto Castiel's belly.

The dark haired teen whimpers, and Dean collapses onto the bed beside him.

This is going to make Christmas dinner seriously awkward.

(-*-)

Castiel sleeps face down on his blocky double bed. The room is cast in shades of gray, darkness overwhelming all the colours of his books and neatly displayed DVD cases. The large monitor screens over his desk are blank, the lights on the modems and control pads are all out.

Castiel sighs softly into the pillow under his face, blissfully asleep. Under the soft sheet draped over him, his legs shift, clad in loose cotton drawstring pants. His upper body is covered by his white t-shirt, the thin, smooth skinned planes of his back and legs are practically invisible in the darkness, swaddled as they are in cloth. His hair is flat and damp at his brow, his face creased slightly even in sleep with concern. His mouth is a little open against the pillow, dampening the cotton cover slightly as he breathes.

The door to the bedroom swings slowly open, and Castiel hears the slight sound it makes, even in the depths of sleep. His nose crinkles and he shifts, rubbing his face against the soft cotton of the pillow.

He wakes in a warm, sudden wave of motion, when the sheet over him is tweaked away, and a hot body replaces it.

He stirs, twisting, his limbs, still heavy with sleep and a languid desire to keep still in the warm comfort of his bed. Dean's knees are heavy on either side of him, the bulk of him pressing against Castiel's back. The smaller teenager can feel Dean's humid skin against him, and when Dean's hands tug at his t-shirt he grumbles sleepily in protest.

Dean presses harder against him, and Castiel feels the shape of his erection shift across his ass, finding its home in the cleft and rubbing impatiently. Dean's hot breath tickles the hair beside Castiel's ear.

"Hey." Dean grinds against him again.

"What'd you want?" Castiel mumbles.

Dean huff softly. "We won."

"Wha..."

"The game, dumbass. I scored, twice." Dean's breath catches into a husky moan as he moves against him. "All the guys were getting hugged by the cheerleaders after... bunch of 'em like bunnies jumping up and down...and then they all went parking." He pulls at Castiel's shirt again, succeeding in bunching it under his arms, a firm, hot hand burning down his spine. "I wanted you."

Castiel can feel the sweat on Dean, smell him and the exertion of the football game he'd played. He imagines what it would have been like, throwing his arms around the sweat damp, freshly exerted shape of Dean. Breathing out hot air into the cold night, muscles cooling down, body shivering.

In his mind's eye he can_ see_ Dean – hair flattened with sweat, shirtless, pelting about on the field after the ball. He's thought about that image a lot in the past few months. Since Christmas, since that bizarre incident with Dean...Castiel had felt increasingly attracted to his stepbrother. Not attracted only in the sense of Dean's developed physique – but in that Castiel found himself gravitating towards the other boy, sitting next to Dean at table, on the couch.

Castiel found himself constantly wanting to touch Dean when they sat close together, a finger trailed down his neck, the pad of a thumb against his full lower lip, a hand on his warm, strong arm, perhaps slid under his thin cotton t-shirt...

But Castiel held himself back. He was not built for the role of a demanding lover, or even to proposition. Dean might as well have been one of the actors in his downloaded porn files, an untouchable Adonis.

He had dreamt of that afternoon a lot, and since Christmas an ache had filled his belly, a need that would not leave him.

And now Dean was here again.

Dean's hands pulled at the hips of Castiel's pyjama pants, and Castiel lifted himself slightly, feeling the soft cotton slide down his legs, freeing his skin to experience the smooth sheets. Dean makes a sound, somewhere between a sigh and grunt, pulling the pants over Castiel's feet and throwing them to one side. His body settles back on Castiel's, and the smaller teenager gasps, expelling hot air into the pillow.

Dean is naked.

His skin, all that skin, presses against Castiel, hot and slightly damp with sweat. Still soft enough to be given away as young flesh, even with the muscles sliding and bunching underneath.

Dean hums, hands reaching up to remove Castiel's shirt. Castiel raises arms with a tiny sound of complaint, feeling Dean strip the shirt off and toss it to once side.

"Much better." Dean slides one heavy thigh between Castiel's legs, lying over his step-brother. Castiel's breath hitches at the feel of soft hair and the thick, hard swell of Dean's arousal against the creamy, sensitive flesh of the back of his thigh. Dean hums, low and smooth as a purr, rocking his hips a little, dragging the weight of his intimate, hot flesh against Castiel's skin. Castiel feels that it's different to his own, hardening slowly against the sheets, almost painfully, the flesh drawing tight and urgent. Dean's lolls heavily, solid and full but almost lazily supple.

"Do I get to turn round?"

Dean palms his way from Castiel's ass to his shoulder. "Depends...I haven't worked out what I want to do to you yet."

Castiel stiffens anxiously.

Dean sighs.

"I was joking." He lets up, moving back and allowing Castiel to roll gracelessly onto his back.

Dean's whole face is shadowed, his eyes dark and opaque in the dark room. The effect makes Castiel's heart jump, unsure what striking, strong Dean wants, or what he will let Dean do to him.

Dean stretches up, chiselled arms reaching towards the ceiling chest elongating, stomach hollowing out, cock shifting against his broad thigh.

He drops his hands to the pillow on either side of Castiel's head, settling over him carefully, one leg draped over Castiel's, the other left lying on the bed. He brushes his lips against those of his stepbrother, kissing him softly, and then more urgently, shifting his weight to make the position more comfortable.

Dean kisses Castiel, but after a few seconds, he realises that his stepbrother has no idea what to do. The smaller teen is lying with slightly parted lips, which move slightly with each press of Dean's on them, but seem otherwise frozen.

Dean pulls away, finding that Castiel is looking at him with worried, startled eyes.

"It's just a kiss." Dean tells him, feeling his back flush in embarrassment. At military school he'd experimented with a few of his peers, and kissed a little, but mostly the other guys hadn't liked to. They'd been ok with pretty much everything else though. Still, Dean had felt his heart in his throat when he'd gone to kiss Castiel, and the lack of response actually kind of hurt.

"I know, I..." Castiel blinked rapidly. "I was surprised."

Dean frowns, then leans forwards and kisses him again.

This time he can tell that Castiel is really trying, his mouth moves, but it does so awkwardly, opening against Dean's fully when he'd rather the smaller teen would get his lip between Dean's own. Lips too dry, head tilting the wrong way.

He pulls back again.

"You haven't done this before." He doesn't say it unkindly, but Castiel still flushes and looks away. Dean bites his lip, it's just too cute. "S'ok – not like I didn't have a first time."

Well, he had one – he doesn't quite remember it, between the beers and the back of the car being so dark.

And that whole part where the guy's dad had caught them at it and called John over like a shot to drag Dean home.

Still, no need to mention that.

Ever since he decided to drop into Castiel's bed, back while he was driving home from the game, Dean's been replaying Christmas over and over – remembering the sounds Castiel had made, the way he'd been so helpless – so gone.

Now he knows why.

It's taken so long to get Castiel awake and naked – now he knows that this is going to take longer, if he wants to show Castiel exactly what to do. And he really just wants to come, and sleep.

"So, I guess I know why you were so eager last time." Dean mutters. Castiel's face is flaming, turned away from him, and, Dean has to admit that his nerdy little stepbrother looks edible. He dips his head and takes a light bite of skin between lip covered teeth, trailing down Cas's neck.

The smaller teen squirms and gasps, and Dean brings one hand up lightning fast, turning Castiel's face towards him, and kissing his loosened mouth.

This time, Castiel doesn't freeze, and Dean manages to coax some pretty decent technique into him. He realises that his hand is still on Cas's neck, thumb pressing gently on his throat. But when he goes to move it, Castiel's whines, and his own hand comes up, covering it and squeezing Dean's hand gently, putting pressure on his own airway.

Dean's hips jerk forwards, any blood remaining in his brain departing on a swift journey downwards, heating his skin and making his heart jump as it goes. With Castiel's face in the crook of his elbow, their hands still joined on the smaller teen's throat, Dean ruts against him, moaning aloud when Castiel manages to get with the rhythm, arching up and rubbing his thigh between Dean's. Shudders run up and down his spine as he gets closer, and his hand closes harder under Castiel's own. He kisses whatever breath Castiel has, away, and the smaller teen shivers, body locking up as he comes.

Dean's never done anything like this before – the kind of kinky stuff that none of the guys at school would be caught dead doing – hell, he'd been locked up with twenty-five other gay guys – and they were all most emphatically tops. Still, he likes the giddy little head rush he gets when he pulls his hand away, and finds the skin underneath is already red – he comes as he sucks the reddened skin into his mouth, mouthing it gently, listening to Castiel whimper, feeling his hands flutter against his back.

He half laughs to himself, sprawled out, naked, on top of the limp form of his stepbrother. Because it feels good, so good, to be this relaxed in his own skin.

And his Dad is the idiot who brought Castiel into the house.

He doesn't even realise he's falling asleep, until Castiel moves, and jolts him out of his lion-in-the-sun doze. He rolls to one side, looks up at the ceiling, and sighs.

Castiel is the first one to speak, and Dean's surprised, because he'd had Castiel pegged as meek and clueless, but the words that come out of his mouth are anything but.

"You can't just leave me like that again."

"Like what?" Dean mutters, inwardly trying to think back – when had he left Castiel? The last time they'd done this? He'd picked himself up and gone straight back to his room, sure - but it had been over so...

"Alone, for _months_, Dean." Castiel turns to look at him, face creased with anger and frustration. "I thought I was going crazy, waiting for you to touch me."

Well...fuck – what exactly could he say to that? He'd thought it was a onetime thing, a little fondling, some mutual porn sharing, before the family atmosphere killed off any belt level feelings towards his stepbrother.

He hadn't even thought Castiel liked him very much - and really why should he? Dean had been an ass to him at the wedding. But, to be fair, he had just gotten out of military school – gotten razed by his dad for being kicked out, had a lecture about who and what he was not allowed to stick his dick in for the rest of his life...and then his dad had trotted out his fiancée, and her twink of a son.

The double standards had kind of thrown him for a loop. His Dad seriously expected him to live _across the hall_ from Castiel – and not think about him like that?

Was he fucking with him?

Ok, so, Dean's thing for nerdy, librarian-teacher-oh-you've-yet-to-impress-me-Mr-Winchester types, was not well known by any means. Still, you'd have to be blind to not think Cas was hot.

So, in an effort to stay on his Dad's good side, Dean had tried his best to steer clear of Cas, and to warn him off as much as possible.

Now though, lying there all sleepy and warm, next to Castiel, he sees the last few months through new eyes – the way Castiel looked at him funny whenever Dean was just lazing around in his sweat pants, how sometimes, when they sat next to each other, Castiel's hand would twitch, in an aborted motion. About to reach out, but never making it.

And even before Christmas...Castiel had looked at him. Dean remembers going for a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the middle of the night, not bothering to throw anything on over his white shorts– finding Cas in the kitchen, toying with his DSL or whatever. And for a second he'd thought he'd felt heat in his gaze. But he thought he'd imagined it.

Clearly not.

"If you were so desperate, why not do something." Dean mutters.

Castiel scrunches up on the bed. "I didn't know if you wanted to."

Dean looks down at them both.

"Was this in any way unclear?"

Castiel shakes his head.

"Good...then next time, you come to me ok? Whenever you want it...and I'll show you what we can do."

The way Castiel licks his lip is probably a sin in itself.

"But...this doesn't seem...wrong, to you?" Castiel asks softly.

Dean huffs. "According to Dad, locking me up with some of the most maladjusted guys you will ever meet, while I was just getting a handle on this gay thing – was a good idea. Screwing around with the hot guy across the hall? I'm going to bet that, as long as it stays a secret...we're good." Dean looks at Castiel's throat, reaching out and tracing a finger along it. "You are a fucking kinky guy though."

Castiel's breath shakes, and Dean feels heat crawl up his spine when he thinks of all the things that he can show him – and all the things he has yet to think up, just waiting for Castiel to come along.


	2. Chapter 2

_I wasn't going to write anymore of this...but, then this happened. But don't get your hopes up for a continuance...they may be more, but, I don't know yet. _

It's the last game of the season, and honestly? Dean doesn't give a fuck.

He plays like he does. Runs after the ball like a maniac, shouts abuse with the rest of the team when the other guys (from fricking Ohio for crap's sake) get a touchdown. He even almost dislocates his shoulder shunting one of the bastards to one side as he steals the ball and takes it right up the field.

But he doesn't really hear it when the crowd starts screaming, when they've won and the rest of the guys cluster round and cheer, and the cheerleaders come skipping over to hug and whoop and kiss their way through the sweaty, dirt covered guys he calls 'team mates'.

He doesn't give a fuck, because it's not winning that matters.

It's also not the taking part that counts.

What matters is that, when he gets home, he's going to get a fricking hero's welcome, from the one person not in the stands.

The one person he actually gives a fuck about.

The best part about it being the last game of the season, is that, his Dad being his Dad, he missed it. Because he and Cas's Mom are having a romantic weekend upstate, while Dean and Castiel mind the house, do homework (Cas) and try to stay out of trouble (Dean).

Of course, the way it actually works, and has done for the last two trips their folks have taken, is that, Dean's Dad and Cas's Mom go apple picking at some B&B, and Dean fucks Cas on any and every flat surface around the house.

It's hard enough having a constant hard-on for you step brother, without your homophobic Dad around, watching your every move and threatening to send you back to military school if he catches you so much as thinking about ass. But the last week? Knowing that he's got Cas all to himself, alone, for two whole days?

Dean almost died.

Without Wednesday's sly shower hand job from his 'little brother' he'd probably have exploded by now.

The car's gone from the driveway when he gets home, still damp with sweat and spattered with mud, because like hell was he swapping a team shower with like, ten gross guys in a chilly concrete changing room, when he could come home to a clean, foamy shower cubicle, and a wet, dirty step-brother.

With his skin all hot from just thinking about it, Dean lets himself into the house, and notices for the first time that all the lights are out. What the hell? If Cas has already gone to bed, Dean will actually kill him. OK, so it's almost eleven, and he'd been held up by the team longer than expected, but come on. They only get so many hours alone together, and Dean knows for a fact that Castiel had bought them more lube, because he'd gotten an Amazon package that he blushed over and spirited off to his bedroom as soon as it arrived.

"Cas?"

He drops his kit bag on the floor, shuts the door and walks through the living room, to the hall that leads to his bedroom, and Cas's too (seriously, stellar planning Dad).

There's no noise, but Dean can sense something, some_one_ in the house.

"Cas, this isn't funny dude."

He opens Castiel's bedroom door and blinks into the darkness. All the computer monitors are off, and the breathy rush of the modems is missing. Everything is hushed, and quiet.

Until that is, a lamp falls off of a table on the other side of the room, and Castiel swears.

"Look, jerk-face, there had better be a good reason why you're not naked, on all fours, in the living room. Because, I've had a long-ass wait for today, and wasting it looking for you did not factor in to..."

The fallen lamp came on suddenly, illuminating Castiel from an odd angle, and making Dean stop mid-sentence to suck in a breath.

"That...is a good reason."

Castiel's face was tense and nervous. "I thought...actually, I don't know what I was thinking. Only...about that first time and then...I had this idea. But, I think it's stupid now, and...sorry, for being so...stupid."

"That was, what you got from the internet?"

"Yeah...like I said, stupid." Castiel's hand crept down, tugging and fussing. "I'm not...I don't know. It's weird isn't it?"

Dean just keeps staring, because, honestly? He hopes he never stops seeing this image. He'd be happy to have it tattooed somewhere private and painful, just so he could look at it, over and over.

Castiel is wearing white tube socks, and little, high-heeled sneakers, laced up tight. There's a dark pony tail hanging over his shoulder, and he's wearing a pretty close approximation of the cheerleader uniform for their school – blue and silver tunic, short, flippy little skirt and regulation gold chain necklace, with a little 'C' on it.

The white lacey panties under the skirt are not strictly regulation, but, Dean's prepared to let that slide, on account of the fact that he can pretty much see through them, and what he can see, is that Castiel has very carefully shaved himself bare.

Dean's whole body feels very hot, and he's kind of forgotten how to swallow, and breath, and talk.

Castiel's hand nervously strokes the fake ponytail, and his carefully painted mouth twists with embarrassment. He's wearing make-up, red lipstick, powder, blush and mascara. And, if Dean's nose can be believed, he's also wearing body spray, the kind that the actual cheerleaders wear, something sweet, like candy.

"I look stupid," Castiel says.

Dean lunges. Which is not an over statement. One moment he is standing, flaming skinned and feeling his stomach turn into a fire pit, the next he's got his hands on Castiel, lifting and shoving, until Castiel is pinned to the wall, Dean pressed up between his parted legs, with his mouth at Castiel's throat.

Castiel actually sounds like he's hyperventilating, his body rocking against Dean's, hands clinging where they can while Dean's brutal hands ransack the contents of his skirt and top. He pinches Castiel's nipples, scratches his nails over his ribs, and while Castiel squirms and cries out happily, Dean shoves a hand up his skirt and finds him wet, and open and dripping lube all over the filmy panties.

It takes, maybe ten seconds to get his zipper and underwear down, and those are the longest seconds of Dean's life. He doesn't bother with a condom, because neither he, or Castiel, have slept with anyone else since they started this thing. And, after those all too lengthy ten seconds, Dean tugs the frilly panties to one side, and shoves Castiel up the wall with the force of his first thrust into all the hot slickness that Castiel put there just for him.

It is over fast, because, hey, Dean's a teenager, and he's got a long, long time to get Castiel's outfit as dirty as he wants. And there's no way anyone could last long with Castiel thrashing around, clinging to them, letting loose like a pornstar and dripping pre-come all over his pretty little panties.

Dean presses as close as he can, feeling his jeans drop right down to his ankles, one of Cas's hands up his shirt and Castiel fights for breath, panting and moaning and crying out all at once. With his mouth close to Castiel's ear, dark hair tickling his face, Dean mutters the utter filth he's been tormenting himself with for the last week, right into Castiel's soft little 'was-a-virgin-till-they-met' ear. And Castiel writhes and moans his name, coming over himself without a trace of shame, clenching like he wants to swallow Dean's dick up whole.

The thing is, Dean would let him. At least in that moment where his whole skeleton is molten metal, and he's fucking invincible and dying all at once. He tips his head back and keeps moving until he's shaking too much, and then he leans his weight against the wall and appreciates what it's like to come inside Castiel, while he sighs and kisses his neck, after months of quick booty calls across the hall, and jerking off to the sound of Castiel panting in his own bed.

And naturally, that's the moment his Dad chooses to grab him around the neck, and drag him across the room, cursing the air blue, while Cas's Mom stands in the doorway, her face all twisted up and horrified.


	3. Chapter 3

_By-the-by, I have a humorous romance novel coming out tomorrow...details and blurb etc, can be found tomorrow, on amazon, under 'Prior Engagements' by Sarah Goodwin (I'll post links on my twitter JollySnidge)._

_Last chapter guys. _

Dean drags himself up off of the floor and hauls his pants up, hastily getting them zippered while his Dad yells at him so loud that his entire face has gone red, and spittle flies when he ramps up the volume.

"You goddamn little liar, I brought you into my house, let you have everything you wanted, you told me you were better, you act like you're a man, like you belong here, and all the time you were trying to fuck things up for him. For a kid with a shot at being a normal man someday? You sick son of a bitch-"

And Dean can't help but look over at where Castiel is crumpled on the floor like a discarded toy, arms locked across his chest. Castiel is not good with confrontation, he hates crowds even. His Dad notices the direction of his glance and reaches out to jerk Dean's jaw round.

"Don't you even look at him. This is over, you hear me? Over! I want you out of this house, out, right now, get out of my sight. If your mother were here she'd be sick with shame, you understand, she'd die with it, all over again. Get out, of my house."

"So you can send him off to military school?" Dean snaps, pulling away from his dad and shouting him down. "You think she's gonna let you? No mother would do what you did to me, send their kid across the country to get yelled at and beaten into place. Fuck that. He won't live through that."

"She'll do what's best for her son," John thunders, "and that means getting him away from this house, where he can get some decent care for what you've done to him."

"Done with! Asshole." Dean shouts, "Ask him, go on, ask. Ask him if he wanted it, wanted me. Go on ask!"

"Casitel?" It's Cas's mom, sitting on the floor and reaching out to her son from a few feet away, like she's scared to touch him in case he bites her or something. "Castiel, is that true? Did you...did you encourage Dean to-"

Castiel blinks up at her, hair dishevelled, make-up and sweat and tears smudged across his face, and mutely shakes his head.

"Cas," Dean whispers, then, "Cas! You have to tell them, you can't let them put you in that place Cas, don't let them-"

His Dad jerks on his arm, and drags Dean from the room, shoving and hauling him towards his own bedroom, telling him he can get his things and then get out.

Still, Dean doesn't give up. "Tell them you love me, tell them!"

Castiel sits on the floor, feeling his heart die inside of him, the heat of Dean's body rising from his own like a departing spirit. His mother puts her arms around him, and he knows that it's over. Him and Dean, his life, the world...it's all just over.

John throws Dean out onto the front lawn with a duffle of clothes, cash and random crap that he'd managed to scoop up from around his room. For about twenty minutes Dean hammers on the door and shouts through to the rest of his so-called family, then he turns his back on the house, and, trembling with rage and misery, he takes out the keys to the impala, lifted from the hall table, and gets into the car.

The front door flies open as the engine revs up, but John's too late to catch him as he screeches off down the street and on out of the town.

He won't report the car stolen, Dean realises. Because he'd rather lose thousands of dollars than have Dean returned to him.

Dean is not a survivor. Ok, so he sneaks out and smokes on the roof of the house, and he's been fucking his step-brother for months, but he's also the son of a fairly well off guy, and he's lived a pretty nice, normal life. Aside from being sent to military school. So his first few weeks away from home are hard. He gets ripped off on renting a room, and most of his money goes that way. He doesn't know how to go about getting a job, aside from looking in the papers and on the net. He's never had an interview, or had to shop for groceries or do laundry.

Two weeks after leaving home he runs out of money and ends up living in the impala just outside of town, scraping together dimes to buy French fries, and desperately trying to get his one set of nice-ish clothes clean in a truck-stop bathroom.

But, after a month or so of struggling, he gets work cleaning a convenience store after hours. Only two hours a day, but that's sixteen dollars that buys him food, and gets him change for his laundry. At night he sleep fearfully in the back of the car, where every snapping twig wakes him up, confused and disorientated, visions of killer travellers and rapists flashing in his head.

It's not a good month, he loses weight, his hair is dirty and he doesn't speak to anyone more than it takes to order a plate of food and a cup of coffee. He's lonely, and all the time he remembers the way Castiel had disowned him. He hadn't really realised just how much Cas meant to him, more than an accessible, kinky fuck, but he was also around to talk to, and when their parents were away, they got to sleep next to each other. Dean misses him, but, he kinda hates him too. Because Castiel is sitting pretty at home, while he's freezing his nuts off in a car by the side of the road. Castiel has parents, and a future. Dean has sixteen dollars a day and a fake ID.

Only, of course, Castiel isn't at home. Dean knows, because he's called there a bunch of times from payphones, and Castiel never picks up. He even paid some school kid to call and pretend to be from their high school, asking about Cas. And his mom had said that Castiel had moved schools.

So, Dean slept in the car, worked at night, and spent his days at the library, googling military and Christian academies, and paying five dollars a time to kids and bar flies to call up, and ask for Castiel. He could only afford one call a day, saving eleven dollars for food and a little gas. He didn't even know why he was doing it. But he needed to know.

Forty calls and two-hundred dollars later. Almost a year since he'd left home, Dean got lucky. By that time he was doing five hours a day at the store, and then cleaning after closing. A grand total of seven hours and fifty-six dollars a day. It was really good money for such a shitty job, and Dean was hoarding all he could, to get himself a little room somewhere, where he could look after himself and get a job.

But then, one night in a bar, he got someone to make a call for him, still one call a night, stretching out the weird hope he had even longer, and the woman who picked up said that, although all the boarders were in bed, they did have Castiel with them, and he was find, and would he like to call back in the morning to speak to his nephew?

So then he knew, Castiel was at St. John's boy's school for Juveniles at Risk. It was almost funny.

Dean had about three hundred dollars saved, and he spent it all on gas getting down to the place where the school stood, about three miles out of a town with only a gas station and a convenience store to stop it from blowing away.

He didn't know what to do. Try and see Castiel? Or just maybe get a letter to him? What did he even want to say? 'Fuck you for screwing me over?' 'How could you do that to me?' 'I'm sorry I fucked up your life? Forgive me' or maybe just 'I miss you, and I'd rather cut myself open than go through these last months again?"

In the end, he walked around the grounds, outside the perimeter fence. The school was red brick, with a huge steel cross hung up outside. There was a concrete yard and a field for exercise, and a group of boys uniformed in dark blue and grey were running laps. Dean watched from a distance as they slogged past, exhausted. They all had the same haircut, the standard kind of crew-cut that Dean was all too familiar with. They were wearing grey t-shirts and dark blue jogging pants, and were practically identical, still, Dean knew Castiel the minute his eyes fell on him.

Cas was running ahead of the others, legs moving automatically, arms swooshing at his sides. But is hands were clenched, and Dean could tell he was beyond tired, but pushing himself harder and harder with each step. He couldn't see his face, but Dean could see that, like the others, Castiel had a shorn head, the smooth, silky hair that he'd kind of had a thing for, cut right down to a tough stubble.

Dean watched as Castiel ran, stumbled on the rutted track, and fell flat on his face with an airless huff of impact.

The other boys caught up with him, passed him by without looking. Somewhere, a whistle blew, and Dean heard a distant voice scream 'Winchester! Up!'.

Castiel eased himself off of the ground, looking down at where the hard dirt had presumably scraped his palms and knees raw. Dean knew how it felt, to be hurt, to want someone, your mom usually, and instead to get told to get up, walk it off, don't come crying to me. He'd had all that at military school, and all it had done was make him fiercely determined to keep any scrap of affection for himself, wherever it came from.

Castiel wasn't built for that kind of treatment.

Dean watched him stumble on, hobbling a little on a twisted ankle.

He knew then exactly what he wanted to do.

It was actually easier than he'd thought. He'd already had someone pose as Castiel's uncle over the phone, and it was a simple thing to drive out of town, and lay out a bit more of his precious savings on a smart suit, shirt, sweater and tie. He'd grown a bit of a beard to help him pass unnoticed in bars, and he neatened it up, combed his hair, and got the car cleaned.

After that, he drove right up to the school, went though the double doors and up to the receptionist.

"I'm here to collect my nephew, Castiel Winchester? His father's very sick, and he's needed at home for a while."

The receptionist got the principle, and Dean had to talk a little more about how Cas's dear old dad was suffering really badly, and that it was probably going to be 'soon', so Castiel should get to see him one last time.

Moving stuff, Dean really wished that it was true.

She was a little suspicious, the principle, and she had him give out the answers to some 'security' questions that the school had, so they knew who to trust with the kids. Dean obviously knew all the answers, and managed to persuade her that a call home wasn't necessary, he'd call from the road, but it was gonna be a long drive so...

She understood, and sent for Castiel immediately.

Castiel appeared a while later, fresh from morning prayers, and looking more than a little confused, a holdall in his hands. He looks skinnier than Dean remembers, and his cruelly shorn hair just makes his skin look paler, his eyes bigger. He stopped stock still when he saw Dean, and he pretty much realised that this was the moment Cas could really drop him in the crapper, because trying to spring a kid from school under false pretences? Dean was willing to bet the cops would get involved.

"You got a hug for your uncle or what?" Dean said, trying to keep a lid on his nerves.

Castiel crossed the room slowly, dropped his holdall, and wrapped his arms around him.

"Hey Uncle Dean."

Of course, it's possible that Cas just wants out, and that he's willing to play Dean's game until they're out of sight of the St. John's school gates. But Dean feel relieved all the same.

They sign out of the school, and, with the principle wishing Cas's family well, they go out to the car and drive off.

Neither of them speak for about ten miles. Then Dean glances over and realises that Castiel is valiantly trying not to cry.

"Dude I can take you back if you-"

"Don't" Castiel says a once, panic shooting through his voice. "I don't want to go back."

"So what's the problem?"

Castiel looks down, fingers picking at each other. "I didn't think you'd ever come for me."

Dean grips the wheel tighter and tries to ignore how much it hurts him to think of Castile, stuck in that school, thinking that no one care about him, that Dean had never cared.

"Well, you did kind of tell my Dad that I was a rapist, so...I took some time."

"I'm so sorry," Castiel murmurs, "I was scared and, they were right there, just...looking at me, like I was a freak. I couldn't tell them that...that it was me, that they were looking at the real me."

Dean shrugs, "It was horrible, I get it. It's not like it hadn't happened to me before. I guess I have more practice taking the 'you're a fucking sinner and you're gonna die' looks."

Castiel moves across the seat and cautiously puts his arm through Dean's.

"So...can we...I mean, are you going to let me stay with you?"

"I just committed a whole bunch of offences to get you out of there," Dean says, nudging him, "of course you get to stay with me. But, just so you know, I've got like...fifteen dollars, and no idea where we're going."

"Well, right now, I think you should be looking for a place to pull over," Castiel says, "so I can make up for seven months of thinking I lost you."

Dean glances at him, "You're kidding? The whole 'dirty uncle' thing...that's a turn on for you?"

In answer, Castiel pulls his tie loose and starts to unbutton his school shirt. "You know, a firm hand, a masculine influence," he slips his hand into his slacks, "a whole wealth of experience...discipline...uh..."

Dean pulls over so fast that he dents the front of the car on the bank.

And he doesn't give a fuck.


End file.
